


The Lost Heart

by noeon (noe)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HD Remix 2011, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noe/pseuds/noeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry struggles to recover after Ginny’s death and find meaning in his life. He does not expect his friendship with Draco Malfoy to be quite so meaningful. Remix of Femme’s masterful <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1282">The Years That Walk Between</a> from Harry’s POV for HD Remix 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Femme (femmequixotic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmequixotic/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Years That Walk Between](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282) by [Femme (femmequixotic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmequixotic/pseuds/Femme). 



> Dear Femme, I tried to stay faithful to your story while bringing something fresh to read. I have no idea if it worked out and I do hope you like it. I do not own the original work of transformative fiction, nor the characters and works of J.K. Rowling it was based on. And T.S. Eliot, I’m sorry.
> 
> Enormous thanks are due to Supergrover24 for her coaching and reading assistance and the hd_remix mods for their modly awesomeness!

‘She's dead, Harry.’

I’m not prepared for Ron to barge into my office, ghost-eyed and sickly pale with a protesting Assistant Auror behind him. We’re meeting over lunch today, so my first thought is that perhaps I’d missed the time, but the clock on my office shelf reads _10.04_.

‘Ron.’ I stand after I hear his words properly. ‘What?’

‘Hermione was there. It was an accident and she...’ Something in his face collapses in on itself. I’m suddenly afraid he’ll fall over. ‘The Healers from St Mungo's just flooed.’

A wave of blankness crashes over me, and I can’t move for a moment. ‘Hermione’s dead?’

‘No.’ Ron’s face is a grimace of agony. 

I suddenly realise I don’t want to hear what he’s going to say next. 

‘Harry, it’s Ginny.’

***

Molly meets us in the hospital hallway and hugs us both tight as if we were eleven again and not thirty years past that age.

‘They’ve moved Hermione upstairs, Ron.’ She gestures with her chin toward the stairwell and gives Ron a slight push. ‘Arthur’s gone to owl Hogwarts to arrange for the children.’ 

She turns to me with tears in her eyes and a resolute look on her face. ‘You should go in to her, Harry. She’s in there.’ 

The bare room is so quiet I can only hear the rushing of blood in my ears. I blink in the pale, bright light, my eyes adjusting from the dark of the hallway.

Ginny is lying on the bed in the centre of the room. She looks peaceful. Her red hair is soft and when I lean down, it still smells like her favourite perfume--lilies and magnolia--that I give her every year for her birthday. A whisper of warmth clings to her cheek as I kiss it.

My knees buckle, and I fall to the floor, unable to move. My throat clenches with a cry I cannot let out.

Molly comes in and leads me out into the hall. She seats me firmly in a chair while the orderlies enter the room.

Ron returns. After a wordless glance from his mother, he all but carries me home.

***

Arthur Portkeys with the children from Hogwarts. He and Molly tell them the news of their mother’s death while I wait for them in the sitting room. I am deeply, unspeakably grateful for their help.

When she sees me, Lily rushes to my side like a little girl and clings. ‘Daddy,’ she chokes out, then buries her head in my shoulder.

Albus and James move more slowly towards us, their faces blank with shock. I reach to ruffle Albus’s hair and then I'm on my knees and all three children are in my arms, weeping. For a moment, I expect Ginny to help me with them and then the piercing reality of her absence returns.

***

Molly and Arthur arrange the funeral with their family vicar. It’s held in the small Wizarding church in Godric’s Hollow where we were married.

As I sit in the dark, worn pew next to my children, I remember standing and waiting nervously nineteen years ago, next to an equally nervous Ron who managed to drop the rings not once but twice in the first five minutes. The few family members and friends who’d been invited to witness had tittered and then she had appeared on Arthur’s arm at the far end of the aisle, a vision of white veiled in glory.

Today she is gone but her body is in front of me, in a casket is piled high with lilies and magnolias and fragrant Turkish roses. 

Next to me in the pew, James and Albus look so much older than I’d ever seen them, young men grown already and now marked heavily by grief. Lily holds her grandmother’s hand. Ron is here with his Rose and Hugo. Hermione sits at the far end, glassy eyed and exhausted with her broken arm in a dun-coloured sling. She really shouldn’t be here but she’d demanded we let her come and neither Ron nor I could say no.

Unlike our wedding, today the village church is absolutely bursting at the seams--over a hundred people and more watching outside. From the whispers among those present, I realise that the service is being broadcast on WWN.

I waver for a moment when the choir begin _The Lord is my shepherd_ , but the thought of my parents buried next to us comforts me somehow and I make it through the service.

At the end, I stand with the children as the pallbearers prepare to carry Ginny’s coffin out of the church and Portkey to London to bury her at Highgate. Albus tugs at my sleeve and whispers to me. I see Malfoy father and son seated at the back, two identical blond heads inclined, two pointy faces pale against black funeral robes. I believe I see Draco nod to me, but I can’t be sure. I nod back just in case.

***

Grief is a country with no time. And no landmarks. All of the old griefs come back to haunt me and I don’t know where I am anymore. Time unspools; I have no sense of orientation. My life hitherto had been a life of things done and to do, not a place of reflection. I never liked thinking, and now I can do nothing but.

My thoughts tick madly through me like the hours of a clock I cannot control, no numbers I can see, no rhythm, just ceaseless drudgery and pain.

She was the centre of everything, the vital, steady heartbeat of my world. My Ginny.

***

The confrontation with Hermione happens the Tuesday after the funeral. She and Ron come over for breakfast and I can tell from her darting, hesitant looks that she has something to confess.

‘I did it, Harry, as surely as if I’d Avada Ke-’

‘No, you didn’t.’ My voice is raised and I do not care. ‘This is not your guilt, Hermione, and it’s not right to claim it.’

Hermione’s eyes fill with tears and she twists the fabric of her dark wool skirt with her good hand. ‘I did the research, Harry. I helped set up the spell and I talked it through with her. I encouraged her.’

My stomach turns at her pleading, not because I am angry with her, although I am, but because she seems more lost than I’ve ever seen her. I’m worried she won’t come back from this either, and I can tell by the nervous, haunted, over-attentive look in Ron’s eyes that he feels the same.

‘I know you did, and if you’d both just been hurt, I’d be angry.’ I catch her eyes with mine, trying to see if she’s still in there. She looks away. ‘Ginny’s dead, Hermione. And no amount of guilt or second guessing will bring her back. She wouldn’t... She wouldn’t want us to suffer. And if we can’t rely on each other right now, who can we rely on?’

Hermione reaches up and lays a hand on my shirt. I gently put an arm around her as she sobs. Ron and I exchange glances. We have no idea what to do now, either of us. He’s lost a sister, and his wife is teetering on the brink of sanity. I’ve lost my wife and I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose my best friends.

The next day, Ron takes Hermione to Scotland for her nerves and to keep her out of the public eye.

***

Due to the shocking nature of Ginny’s accident, the press attempts to invade our lives to uncover seamy details that do not exist. The details of the Auror investigation are quickly revealed and the tragic, accidental nature of Ginny’s death determined beyond the shadow of a doubt.

Although everyone tries to stop me, I give several strongly worded statements to protect our privacy and our friends. I take a fierce pleasure in defending publicly against absurd conspiracy theories and murmurings of some sort of Death Eater involvement. The flashes of fury are a welcome distraction from my general inability to feel.

The high water mark comes when the _Prophet_ has the nerve to dredge up my friendly association with Draco Malfoy and Albus and Scorpius’s friendship as a possible endangerment to our family. The article, run on the gossip page under the shameful heading _Potter Family Dangerous Liaisons?_ makes me utterly livid. I Firecall Barnabas Crouch myself and send a Howler to the editorial office.

>   
>  _I won't have my wife's death used against the Malfoys. Leave us all alone, you bloody damn vultures. -HJP_   
> 

When I talk to her about quashing the rumours, Luna tells me I’ve gone a little overboard, but she’s smiling and I’m glad I’ve done something in the midst of this mess.

***

Malfoy sends a condolence note. I think it’s also a thank you for defending his family. I don’t see how I could have done any differently and I owl him back to tell him so.

***

I finally fall apart properly when Ron and Hermione return. I send the children to them and start drinking at ten in the morning, refusing all attempts of family and friends to come over and ‘mind Harry’.

I’m tired of being coddled. And I’m angry. I want to talk to someone who will listen without tearing up and clutching at my hand. 

I’m also far more pissed than I realise.

I Firecall Draco.

‘Harry. His face is thin and wavering in the green flames. ‘Wait a moment.’ He turns and says something to the room behind him. Then he turns back to me and beckons me through.

I follow him from the marble Floo entry into his study on the second floor. He shuts the heavy leather-lined door and walks to the sideboard, while I collapse in a heavy wing chair across from his desk. He pours me a generous measure of whisky and hands it to me. I down it without a word and he pours me another.

And then I start to talk, haltingly at first. About Ginny and her death. He tells me about his secret love affair with Severus Snape and his death. 

I never thought I’d sit across from my once mortal enemy and spill the fragments of my shattered soul, but I’ve lived long enough now to know that one never knows.

We drink and we talk. About loss. About living. About dying. About the War. About our children. About our parents. About Voldemort. About the irony of dying at home.

In between bursts of conversation, we sit. Occasionally he tries to get food into me from the house elves, but mostly I stick to a liquid diet. He keeps excellent whisky and, as a mark of true friendship, lets me threaten his supply. 

I stay for three days. When I come home, with the help of a sobering spell, I’m something resembling human again.

***

Losing Ginny is like losing my parents, losing Sirius, losing everything all over again. I’d no idea I could feel so bereft, not with three beautiful children and friends and a loving extended family.

I try to pull myself together for the children’s sake. I can’t leave them without a parent, not when they’ve just lost their mother. 

I take an extended leave from the Auror Office. Molly comes in and keeps us eating, Arthur comes to help us laugh and forget for a moment, in his quiet, quirky way.

Scorpius makes sure that Al doesn’t miss anything from Hogwarts - they have special dispensation from Minerva to correspond by Floo. I often catch my younger son asleep on the carpet after he’s been lying on his belly for hours in front of the spare Floo in the back of the house, talking to his best friend.

***

Eventually the children have to go back to school and resume their routine. Once they leave, I lose myself again.

I am adrift and empty, raging and desolate. Even grief is too painful. I can’t truly comprehend that she is gone: it hits me in short, excruciating bursts after which I lose myself in sprawling bouts of numbness.

It takes me weeks and firm intervention from friends and family to get back out into the world. 

Draco comes by and takes me to lunch my first day back at the office. As the photographers and reporters follow us, he smiles vaguely and hisses at me from the corner of his mouth, ‘Don’t scowl. You owe her more than that.’

And he’s right, though I fight the truth of what he is saying. I want to be coddled and he won’t oblige. Instead he tells me I look like shit. He drags me in bodily to see his barber and makes a fitting appointment for new robes. I want to wallow, want to strike out at him, but the knowledge that he knows exactly what I’m going through gives me pause. He knows this and uses it against me.

***

Slowly, even against my will, this new Ginny-less world takes on its own painful, almost-habitual rhythm. James, Al, and Lily settle back into life at Hogwarts and come back to stay with me some weekends. I dig into the Auror Office like never before, cleaning house and working with a mad frenzy.

I sleep poorly in our bed, which is now far too large. I have a shirt that smells of Ginny and I keep it with me at night. I wake frequently and walk through the echoing rooms of the house, unused to being alone after years of barely having time to myself.

I talk to her pictures after the first few weeks, trying to tell her all that has happened, is happening since she died. I have this strange compunction to keep telling her the daily details of my life, even though I know she can’t reciprocate. I’m so afraid of losing her presence in it, of forgetting.

I go to her grave on weekends and some mornings, just to feel closer to her again. The Wizarding section of Highgate Cemetery is green and quiet, and something about the stillness of it soothes me. Ron and Hermione help me plant jasmine at her grave and I shield it with weathering charms. Neville visits with me and shores up my shoddy spellwork.

Sometimes I even wish I had died, so I could rest here with her in green stillness and not walk aching through a world that has forgotten her voice, but then I remember how many people depend on me. And I hear her telling me not to be selfish, to keep going. She loved life and it was taken from her. How selfish is it not to treasure every moment?

I can’t treasure it yet, but I try.

***

On the first anniversary of her death we all gather, just the family and Neville and a few close friends, to tell her how much we love her. We bring pictures and tell stories she would have loved and hated to hear. Bill tells a story about the time she was trapped in the cleaning closet, and he convinced Ron they had a Boggart, and we’re all crying and laughing by the end.

Lily and I sit together in silence after everyone leaves. She wants a few moments with her mother but doesn’t want to be alone.

I wait and pretend to look at the other graves while Lily says she loves her and tells her she was right about Hogwarts, it did get easier, and now she’s even in the duelling society.

When she gets to the part about dating Phineas Blackthorne, I can’t pretend I’m not listening. Lily gives me a stern look but then smiles and puts her hand in mine. She’s a few inches taller than she was last year and is slowly becoming beautiful as her feature emerge into their adult configuration. 

I think back and realise she is the age Ginny was the year of the Triwizard Tournament and the Yule Ball, when Hermione danced with Viktor Krum and Ginny with Neville. And I’d had a pash on Cho Chang.

Neville’s now the Headmaster and Cho is married with children of her own at Hogwarts. And Krum has a long trail of conquests to his name, including Draco Malfoy, if one believes the gossip. 

I Apparate with my daughter to the Burrow for lunch, suddenly feeling my full forty-two years.

***

Draco comes with me the week after to visit Ginny’s grave. I don’t know why I ask him exactly, except that I know he understands and he’s been a good friend to me before Ginny’s death and an even better friend after.

I fuss with the flowers, not sure what to say, but needing to show him this place.

He’s quiet and appropriately reserved. An elderly woman stops kindly to say something comforting to me, and I see Draco’s lips tighten for a moment into a narrow line.

I wonder what it must be like for him, who carries a grief that cannot be mourned openly. I don’t know how many people know about Draco and Severus. Neville does--he’s watched Snape’s portrait with Scorpius and put two and two together. I can tell from occasional remarks that Narcissa must and his wife Aurélie certainly knows--she doesn’t seem to miss a beat. I don’t think Scorpius knows, although perhaps he’s getting old enough to understand.

I’ve the opposite problem, needing to find privacy to mourn in a world determined to force the mold of ‘tragic romance’ upon my life with Ginny. Now that it’s been a year, I’m also slowly entering the ‘eligible bachelor’ lists again, and I’m not best pleased.

Draco settles on a stone bench in the dappled sunlight and after a few more moments, I join him.

Our ghosts sit with us under the shade of the cypresses amidst the quiet of the monuments.

***

A few weeks later I suggest we visit Severus’s grave, and Draco, surprisingly, agrees.

I meet him at the Manor, and with a quiet _thank you_ he leads me to the Malfoy mausoleum to lay flowers. It’s strange to think that Snape died younger than we are now. 

Draco kneels before the stone sarcophagus for a moment, and I can see the silent tears wetting his cheeks. I stand to the side and let him have his time. There’s an ocean of time for this sort of thing. It’s called the rest of your life.

***

In a mad urge of Spring cleaning, and possibly because I want distraction, I become dissatisfied with the current state of the Auror Office and embark on a campaign to assess tangible changes. I drive my staff mad, and even Ron doesn’t want to listen to me.

I review every point of reform that Ron and I had achieved and evaluate the efficacy three years in to our program. I draw up new plans and argue them with Draco over pints at the Leaky. He’s an excellent debater, skilled at finding the weaknesses in any plan. Whatever I propose, he criticises, forcing me to reconsider what I wish to effect and how could best be done. Our weekly drinking nights soon happen every few days. 

Malfoy challenges me one evening to think about the questions from the perspective of the Ministry. He mocks me for my limited outlook on matters and my unwillingness to see past the Auror Office. His goading stays with me when I’m called in to see the Minister of Magic.

A vacancy has opened up in the cabinet and Kingsley asks me to fill it. To my surprise, I accept.

When I invite Draco to dinner the next night and tell him the news over ravioli al forno, he looks smug. I almost wonder if he foresaw this eventuality, though I can’t imagine how.

***

In May, Ron and Hermione set me up on a date with Susan Bones.

Susan and I’ve known each other for years professionally and socially and it’s nice to see her again, but I feel nothing, not even a fleeting spark. By mains, we’re talking about the latest Wizengamot ruling on surveillance measures, and it’s clearly no longer a proper date. I’m incredibly relieved.

***

There are other dates. I feel like a teenager again - tongue-tied and awkward.

Albus corners me to ask me about them in July. We’re in the house, getting ready to go to a Quidditch match. James is upstairs looking for his Falcons hat and we’ve got to leave in five minutes to meet the Malfoys.

‘Dad, are you seeing anyone?’

I look at the quieter of my two sons, now fully as tall as I am and likely to pass me shortly.

‘No, Albus. I’m really... I’m not.’ I don’t know what has prompted this exchange, but I’m oddly discomfited by his directness.

‘It would be okay if you did, you know.’

I blink at him for a moment. ‘Thank you.’

Then James comes thundering down the stairs, cutting off all further conversation, and we rush to the garden for the Portkey.

***

‘You know, Potter, you really should let me set you up with someone.’

I stare at Draco’s pointy and slightly flushed face. We’ve just finished the second bottle of wine. The beef carbonnade had turned out rather well this evening, appropriate to the chill of autumn.

‘You called me “Potter”. You must have had enough.’ I Banish the empty bottle from the table.

Draco grins. ‘It was for effect. Seriously, though, Harry. I know dozens of witches who'd like to meet you. It’s not easy to meet nice straight men when you’re our age. Merlin knows, it’s not easy to meet nice gay men either.’

‘As if you’re looking for anyone our age.’ I grin cheekily at him. Draco looks moderately nonplussed, and I’m pleased I’ve been able to ruffle his smugness. His arm candy has been getting younger lately. 

‘I like you better when we’re fighting about House Elf unions.’ I say. ‘Please don’t ruin a lovely evening of arguments with matchmaking.’

Draco gives me an appraising glance and then lets the topic lie. ‘Tell me more about this ridiculous idea involving Muggle law enforcement agencies.’

***

I don’t know why our exchange bothers me, but I continue to think about it for the next few weeks.

And then we’re at a Quidditch match and United have just won. Draco’s hair is shining in the late autumn sun and his cheeks are pink with cold. Our boys are distracted with cheering or sulking and jeering at each other.

In one cold, fateful moment, I look at Draco and I mean really look. His eyes are bright and he’s in the midst of saying something obnoxious but I can’t hear for looking.

I realise I am interested in dating after all.

***

It’s completely inappropriate. I continue our regular meetings but I feel oddly tense, as if something has surfaced that I don’t know how to put back. I’m terrified he’ll realise it and I’ll spoil our friendship. It brings back all of the horrors of our Hogwarts years with a lurch, to have us suddenly divided by unspeakable things.

I find myself sleepwalking through work.

My stomach is weak every time I’m around him.

I notice how his hair brushes his cheek and his unconscious gestures to smooth it back. He’s always extremely well turned out, but now I find myself noticing the body within the clothes, and it’s like a source of shame I cannot hide. He's my friend; he doesn't expect this from me.

I don’t know whom to turn to.

And so I don’t turn anywhere. I leave it to my imagination, which grows surer and more pornographic each night. I tell myself it’s safe, that Draco is safe because nothing would ever happen between us.

And yet, I know he’s anything but.

***

In December, Draco begins seeing someone new, Tonio or Antonio or something like that according to the rumour mill. He cancels several of our meetings. When we do see each other, he seems smug, tired, and distracted.

I shrug it off and wish him well, playing the game of jolly mate that I’ve been playing for weeks.

I tell myself the distance is good for me to get my head back on.

It doesn’t make it any easier. I knew it would come to this, but I burn with jealousy.

***

The children are back for Christmas hols, and Scorpius is a frequent visitor.

Two days after Christmas, we fly in the snow. Scorpius has grown strong and sure on his broom. He might even try for the leagues if he has the inclination.

When we land, Draco is there, fat fluffy flakes skidding off the shoulders of his cloak from the Impervius.

Scorpius smiles and greets his father, then goes in to the house to get warm.

‘I thought you had other plans,’ I say.

Draco’s nostrils flare. ‘They didn’t work out.’ 

My heart swells. He frowns, and I wonder just how much of my relief is showing on my face.

‘I’m sorry.’ I try to pretend I am. ‘But you know we’re always happy to have you.’

He nods briskly and we walk into the house, exchanging banter on league standings and Ministry gossip as though nothing had happened. I try to contain my giddiness.

***

In February, all of my acting and well-meaning diversions come crashing down.

We’ve been drinking and arguing, rather more of both than usual.

It’s a heated debate, and it takes us the whole evening. We still don’t agree by the end.

I love the flush on Draco’s face when he gets riled. He doesn’t lose his composure easily but his gestures become more animated and his cheeks flush and his diction loses its polish and gets both plummier and coarser.

At the Floo, he turns to me and purses his lips. ‘Clearly I need more than one night to show you exactly how much of a fool you are.’

I laugh and raise my eyebrows knowingly. ‘Oh, I’m sure. And I look forward to your ardent ministrations.’

Draco stands still for a moment, hands frozen in the gesture of fastening his cloak. He gives me a thoughtful, half-mocking look. 

‘Are you flirting with me, Harry?’

And there it is and even though he doesn’t mean it, doesn’t think it, can’t possibly know, I find myself leaning in closer to him, powerless to stop. His mouth opens in a little ‘o’. I’m close enough that I can smell the wine on his breath and the warmth of his skin from the fire. ‘No. Not flirting exactly.’

And I kiss him.

***

I pay for it. And handsomely.

He won’t speak to me, won’t answer my owls, won’t accept my Floo calls.

I know I’ve crossed a line in my usual blundering way. Idiot that I am, I always act first.

I can’t regret it. I can’t regret the soft, dry warmth of his lips on mine, the shuddering inhale of his breath, the thrilling suggestion of his tongue against my lips, the softness of his cheek against my fingertips, the stirrings of life and hope and warmth in my body.

I replay the moment again and again, trying to stop before the look of horror in his wide grey eyes.

***

Eventually I break his door down. Quite literally. I have to track him to his office. He’s furious with me of course, and I’m lucky to come out of the conversation with our friendship on shaky but still standing legs.

I do wish I hadn’t answered his question about fucking men. Why did I say ‘I’ve been thinking about it’? He must know who I mean.

And how can we possibly go back to being friends after this?

***

In desperation over things with Draco, I seek Hermione’s counsel. That weekend, I waylay her in the garden when we’re ‘supervising’ the children at Quidditch, which actually means shirking other duties indoors.

‘I kissed Draco Malfoy,’ I blurt.

Hermione looks at me with alarm and quickly grabs her wand. ‘Finite incantatem’

I laugh and hold up my hands to stave off further spellwork. ‘Nice try, but really.’

‘Oh.’ She doesn’t say anything for a while. 

I watch Hugo nearly take Albus’s head off with a Bludger. These family games do require occasional medical assistance.

‘Are you... dating?’ she asks quietly.

‘No.’ I keep watching the game. ‘I kissed him, and he accused me of ruining our friendship.’

‘Did you kiss him again?’

I look at her in surprise. ‘No. I, er. I didn’t.’

She gives me a small, satisfied smile. ‘Well, then. You have to repeat the experiment to be sure of the results.’

I stare incredulously.

She punches me in the shoulder and then Rose collides with Dominique and we’ve more to settle than schoolboy pashes.

***

Hermione’s advice sticks with me, and I find myself firecalling Draco in the middle of the night. I shouldn’t be up, but I can’t sleep, and the words kept turning in my brain until it seemed perfectly rational to settle the matter with another kiss. With my luck, a confused elf will answer the Floo, and I’ll go to bed.

Of course, Draco answers. He’s wearing his favourite dressing gown and there’s an expression of alarm on his face. When he realises there’s no emergency, he frowns. He waves, and I think he’s going to disconnect the call, but he’s actually waving me through.

I land on the marble floor, and my heart is pounding.

Draco cocks a perfectly arched eyebrow at me. ‘Speak.’

And so I do.

***

The reactions to the news are mixed.

When I tell the children, James is coolly furious with me. Al acts like all of his birthdays have come at once, although he and Scorpius are a little shy around us still.

Lily says solemnly, ‘Whatever will make you happy.’ I’m grateful for her blessing.

I make a pilgrimage to Ginny’s grave. I tell her that the children are well, that we miss her, that I am trying to love again and it isn’t easy. That she’d never guess who and probably hex me next to her if she could. But that he is better than they thought and I think I might love him.

On an official visit, I go to Hogwarts and drink with Neville. Then, half off my face, I go to talk to Snape’s portrait. It doesn’t go very well, but I didn’t expect it to the first time.

Molly will clearly never understand and has been decidedly frosty since I moved into the Manor. Arthur’s a bit awkward about it but still talks to me, as he always has, about Quidditch and Muggle technology.

And then there’s Draco--Draco to come home to, Draco to critique my shit taste in wine and clothing and everything else. Draco who snores and pretends he doesn’t and who likes to sleep in on Sundays and be catered to. Draco who’d never been camping and will never go again after the time in France.

Draco who is still a miracle in my bed that I do not understand.

I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, the years-long imprint of Ginny fresh from my dream, and startle for a moment that there is someone else in my bed, a man even, and then it slots back into place and I marvel at the twists and turns and wonders that one life can hold.

This is not the life I'd planned, nor the life I'd hoped for, but the life I've been given.

For that, I am glad.

 

_(And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices_  
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices  
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel  
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell  
Quickens to recover  
The cry of quail and the whirling plover  
And the blind eye creates  
The empty forms between the ivory gates  
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth) 


End file.
